Coma
by thena-ditey
Summary: Mary's coma dream after being shot. Season 2 and 3 spoilers. Rated T for language and adult themes.


*****First real story in quite some time so the characters may be a bit OOC. Spoilers from seasons 2 and 3. This is set just before Mary gets shot in season 2's finale so up until the actual coma part, I have copied dialogue and actions to set the mood and added Mary's thoughts to help set the mood. I wanted to know what her coma was like since she seemed changed from it. I love the idea of a romantic M & M so here are my first steps into that world. This is a long story. I wanted to add chapters, but couldn't find a good stopping place without making it too choppy.******

"If you don't like it here, you can leave."

Francesca's words echoing in her mind beat to the tune of the music outside. Mario pounded on the door again, "Open the door, Blanca! Let's talk about it!"

_Oh, why couldn't she have stayed in the nice house? We could be in that damn hot tub and I could be smoking another cigar. _Mary could feel the adrenalin coursing through her even as Francesca told her to just ignore him and he'd go away.

"Alright, fine. I'll take your advice. We'll ignore him until he gets bored." Mary took a breath to push away the adrenalin and turned to fiddle with the TV again. Then she heard Mario and Dershowitz out front and her body kicked into high gear.

Reaching for her gun she leveled a look at her witness, "Get in the bathroom, now." Francesca freezes and Mary shouts, "Go, go, go! Get in the bathroom and don't move until I tell you."

_Oh, this is bad. When I see Mr. Day again I am __**so**__ gonna punch him in the nuts_. She could already see that this wouldn't end well. Everything was slowing down for her even though she knew that that wasn't possible. Crystal clear and sharp, her thoughts raced to what was inevitably going to happen. At best, they'd cow the gang bangers into going back across the street and she'd grab her witness and drag her happy little ass to a hotel. Outside of the whining she'd have to deal with, Mary liked that idea. A lot. Worse case, they were very dead. She'd take a couple with her if that was the case. _Dammit, Marshall should be here. _But thenhe'd be in just as much danger. Not that a little danger was a bad thing, but she'd be a lot more confident with Doofus around.

She tried to talk Mario down and knew that it was no hope; he was too drunk, had too many friends. She heard Dershowitz clear leather, saw him pull his weapon and put her hand on her own. The gang bangers began backing up and she seized the opportunity yelling to Mario, "Go! Join your friends!"

Mario glanced back at her and she saw the malice in his eyes. He reached behind his back, but it was the big guy in green behind the tree that caught her eye. She saw the glint of light on steel and that was enough for her. As she shouted, "Gun!" she pulled her own weapon. She heard the shot as she pulled the trigger. She was already sinking into the black before she hit the ground. Clawing to stay conscious she heard Dershowitz shouting her name. _No. I'm not ready._

Silence. White light. The feeling of cotton. Smell of clean linen. Mary opened her eyes to see her bedroom. Slowly sitting up, she yawned and scratched her knee. She had the feeling that her dreams were not of the happy, pleasant variety but more of the painful, distressing type. She felt like she should remember more but trying to snatch the tattered wisps of the dream world was more work than she wanted pre-coffee. Stretching, she stumbled through the pristine living room to the kitchen. There was something off, but she couldn't point it out. Grabbing a mug, she poured herself some coffee. Her first sip was Heaven. Looking around she noticed how quiet it was.

"Squish? Mom? Raph? Where is everyone?"

"They aren't here."

Mary turned quickly at the unfamiliar voice. A child sat on the couch. She looked to be about 9, a letter in her hand. "Who are you and what are you doing in my house? Where is my family?"

The girl shrugged and pushed back her blond bangs. Her green eyes seem much too old for such a young child. "They aren't here."

"You said that already. Where are they?" Setting down her coffee, Mary walked slowly to the girl and sat across from her on the coffee table. The girl stared at her for a moment and reads her letter. Mary glances down and sees what the child is reading. Anger boils in her as she sees it's the first letter from her father. Snatching it from the girl's hands she stands, towering over her. "Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing here?"

The girl stares at her out of tired, ancient eyes and vanishes. Jumping back, Mary bangs her legs into the coffee table. "What the fuck?"

"What's up, Mare?"

Mary turns her head sharply and sees Marshall sitting at his desk. She glances around the office and shakes her head as if to clear cobwebs. "Nothing. I must have been daydreaming or something."

"Did you know that in the 50's some psychologists warned parents to keep their kids from day dreaming? They believed that the act of day dreaming would suck children into psychosis."

"You're an idiot. " She gave him a pained expression and picked up her coffee mug.

He smirked, "Most day dreams are about pleasant things. What was yours about?"

"I… I don't remember. That's weird. It was so vivid." She shook her head and turned to her pile of paperwork. On top of the stack was the letter from her father. _What?Where did that come from? I have to get rid of it. I can't let anyone see it or they'll know he's been in contact. _Eyes wide, she glanced around the room and slid it off of the stack. With forced calm she folded it and sets it in a drawer. Taking a shaky breath she looks back at her pile. The letter is still on top.

Mary pulls it down and sees the same letter on top. Getting scared, she pulls page after page. All Dad's first letters. Trying to stay calm, at least outwardly, Mary takes the stack to the shredder. _What the hell is going on? Is someone trying to blackmail me? _But, no. These weren't copies. These were all originals. She'd recognize her mother's stationary and her father's scrawl anywhere.

"Mary? Can you come here for a minute?" Stan calls from his office. Startling hard, she calls back a reply. For the life of her she doesn't know what she said over the roaring of the blood pounding in her ears. What was going on? Shredding the last page, she walks jelly legged into her boss's office. The child is sitting in Stan's chair. Taking a step back, Mary quickly looks for Marshall to find that he's gone. She's alone with this child again.

"Who are you?" Mary demands.

"Who are **you**?" The girl replies.

"I don't have time to play with you. Who are you and what in hell is going on?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?" Mary throws her hands into the air. "What's happening? Who are you? Where is everyone? Answer me!" Breathing hard, Mary stalks around the desk and gets into the child's face.

Vanishing slowly, the girl stares at her.

"Mare, why are you yelling at an empty chair?" Marshall's voice is both amused and concerned.

Spinning around, Mary lunges toward Marshall only to find that she's standing alone in the desert at twilight. Wrapping her arms around herself Mary begins to shake. This nightmare made no sense. It had to be a nightmare. That was the only possible explanation… _Knowing you were dreaming can help you to take charge and make things change_, Marshall had told her that during one of his ramblings. Mary decided it was well passed time to take charge of it.

_First, it seems like the only reoccurring things are the girl, the letter and Marshall. That girl feels familiar but I don't know her. There's something in her eyes. She's the key, whoever she is. I need to figure to it out. Why would Dad's letter be a part of this? I know the thing by heart. There's no significance to any of the situations here so far. And Marshall. _The Marshall connection was something she really didn't want to think about. She'd been pushing those thoughts hard away for years now, with no success. She had come to the realization years before that he was perfect. He knew her like no other person could or would. He got her, totally. He was fully willing to get mixed up in whatever she was knee deep in. He was her best friend and partner. But that was all.

_Even though he is perfect, I can't. I can't drag him down with me into my crapshoot of a life. I'd be afraid that he would leave when he realized what a disaster I am._ That was why she had so firmly left him in his friend box even after he had started showing his emotions for her. That was why she chose the obviously flawed men. It was easier to leave them than to let herself get hurt again. She couldn't handle it if he left her, too. But why was he in her dream?_ Well, to be perfectly honest he does play a starring role in most of my dreams. 90% of my thoughts are about him for one reason or another. In my head I can pretend that he won't leave and that I can't hurt him. I have to admit that or go crazy. Granted, I'd much rather be playing bad cop, naughty cop with the nerd, he would be an asset if I can make him reappear._

As night settled into the desert, she sat and concentrated. She pictured his goofy grin, his kind eyes and his capable hands. She focused on their connection and willed him into being. When she opened her eyes she noticed two things. She was no longer in the desert. She was sitting in a park on a bench near an empty playground in the middle of the day. Above her stood the most important person in her world. He was reaching down his hand to help her stand. Smiling gently he said, "I love you too, ya know. How can I help?"

She felt the lump in her throat ease along with her shaking. Gratefully, she took his hand and stood. She was content to be softer version of herself in this dream world. To acknowledge her feelings and not be such a hard ass, well at least in this moment. She was still Mary Fucking Shannon, bad ass extraordinaire. This was a dream. He couldn't leave her unless she dismissed him here. She was in control, exactly how she liked it. Putting a hand to his cheek she leaned into him. His arms wound around her and they both sighed at the contact. She kissed him gently and he held her tighter. After a blissful moment in the sunshine she pulled back and held his hand. They got down to business. "You know the sitch, right? Weird kid, letter, random changes of scenery?"

"Yes. I agree that the child is the key. Have you considered a less aggressive approach? Honey and vinegar and all that."

"Why would I be nice? It's a nightmare and I'm still me."

"Which is one of the many reasons I love you. However, the usual technique hasn't worked. As soon as you get angry she's gone. Try just talking."

"I have. That's why I get mad. She either ignores me or repeats the question."

"Mary, maybe you were asking the wrong questions."

She squinted at him for a minute. Considered making a snarky comment, but decided that her subconscious just might be on the right track. "What would you ask?"

"If she repeats you, answer the question. If she ignores one, ask a different one."

"Ok. How do we find her? I don't know if I'm up for hide and seek."

Marshall grinned, "Come out, come out where ever you are!" He called.

Again, the scenery changed, but to one a lot less neutral and far more personal. They found themselves standing in the living room of the house Jinx, Brandi and Mary lived in when Mary was 9. The place was a roach infested shithole. They were living there because Jinx' most recent boyfriend had traded her attentions for a place for them all to stay. This was their last night there. Mary knew this because she could hear her little sister crying, terrified. She could hear the shouts. Jinx had stumbled back from a beer run to find the man, fist raised, cornering Mary and Brandi. 9 year old Mary had stood between them to protect her sister. Brandi had woken from a nightmare crying and because he was an angry drunk he wanted her to shut the hell up. Mary had always been fearless and no one was going to hurt her sister. She'd promised Daddy.

Marshall and Mary watched as the child who was Mary gathered their things silently and soothed her sister. She knew that as soon as Jinx had gotten back and **finally** saw what had been happening, they'd be homeless. This wasn't her first rodeo. She knew to bring only what they could carry and to be ready when Jinx threw her last barbs. This was old hat by now. They'd live in a shelter until Jinx sobered enough to find either another man or a job. Mary made sure to grab as much food as she could without being noticed. Jinx tended to keep her girlish figure by being on a liquid diet and forgot sometimes to feed her kids.

Marshall saw the pain and rage in Mary's eyes, older and younger. He wrapped his arms tight around her and kissed her neck. "It's over, baby. They can't hurt you anymore. I promise. I won't let them."

"I should go in there and kick his ass. I think it would be cathartic."

He smiled against her skin and chuckled, "Save it for a day dream. Go talk to yourself."

She took a shaky breath and knelt in front of her younger self. "I think that it's time we had a talk. Do you agree?"

"Yes. Not here. I don't like it here." Little Mary said.

Mary saw the plea in her eyes and smiled as gently as she could and said, "I know the perfect place."

Marshall smiled as he saw the all night ice cream shop Mary had told him about on her first case. Her father used to sneak out with her to get ice cream and to get away from a fight with Jinx. He knew that it was one of her favorite childhood memories. The girls sat at one of the tables while Marshall got in line to get them all ice cream.

"I know who you are, where we are and generally what's going on. I think that just leaves the letter. Why is Daddy's letter so important?" Mary asked.

"Because Daddy is important. We love him even though gone." Little Mary said.

"But nothing in that letter matters right now, does it?"

"Read it."

"I've read it a million times; I don't need to read it again."

"You have never read this letter, Mary." Little said.

"What? It's Daddy's first letter to us. It looks exactly the same."

"Here." Little handed Mary the letter in its original envelope. "Read it again."

Marshall came over to the table and placed ice cream in front of them and settled into a chair next to Mary. Little dug in with typical Mary gusto. Marshall watched as Mary just started at the envelope. The look on her face was a mixture of fear, shame, guilt and anger. The first one and last two were understood, but he knew she needed to understand the shame.

"Mare, you okay?"

"Why can't I open it?"

"Because you feel ashamed. Why do you feel that way?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"How did you feel when you got the letters?"

"Pain. Rage. The second letter was the worst. I almost tore it up without reading it. I think I feel shame because I don't want this. This hurts just as much as the second one. I can't understand why he left me. I feel guilty as if it were my fault. Even though I knew that he loved me, I can't help but wonder if I am why he left. The shame is because I am not strong enough. If I were, I'd have read it already. I'd have already told you that I love you and that you are my world. I wouldn't be letting my fear and anger get the best of me. Again. Still." Mary rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "I'm so weak. I'm so scared. I hide it behind the sarcasm and quips, but you see. You are the first and the only one who ever has. And you still love me. Why?"

"Mary. You are for me what I am for you. You see **me**. You are the strongest woman I have ever known. You were an adult way before your time. So many people can't be who you are or survive what you have. You have carried this spark of empathy, warm, and just pure beauty with you since you were a young child. Look at what you have survived and thrived through. You are not weak. I don't think you ever could be. And being scared is ok, too. It's what we do despite that fear that defines us." He paused for a long breath and to touch her cheek. "I love you for your compassion. I love you for your quips and sarcasm. I love… you. And I always will." He kissed her nose and picked up his ice cream. "Read your letter, Mare."

Sighing, she picked it up and opened it. She had to take a napkin and dab at the tears in her eyes before the words came into focus. As she read the letter she heard her father's voice.

_Mary,_

_You are my light. You are my love. Be true to your heart, don't hide from it. Be my little warrior woman and make life your own. You know what's good for you. I want you to remember this always. And for everyone's sake, wake up._

Her father's voice changed, slowly as she read until it was Marshall's. She looked up into his tear stained eyes and he spoke.

"Wake up, Mare. Please wake up. I know I shouldn't have left you. Oh, god. This is my fault. Don't leave me." Marshall began to sob and she gathered him to her breast, eyes wide.

"Marshall. It's ok. I swear. Nothing is your fault. You're right here."

"It's my fault you got shot. I should have been with you, protecting you. You have always been there with me. Don't leave me alone. Please!"

She hugged him harder to her and noticed that her abdomen hurt. It hurt a lot. She had noticed it originally when she was talking about why she couldn't open the letter. She figured it was just her stomach in knots from the stress, the pain. It had been growing since.

"Marshall? What's going on?"

"M-mary?" He sounded awed, looking up into her face.

"She began to blink. Long blinks that made her angry. Marshall needed her and she was falling asleep. As she began to fall asleep she had flashes of gangbangers and Bobby D. Adrenalin pumping and the flash of light on steel. A shot. Pain. A lot of pain. The pain began tearing at the walls of her dream, making her lose things. Little smiled a lovely, ice cream covered smile and slowly vanished. The details washed away on waves of pain and memory of the shooting began to take their place. She struggled against it. She had to remember her revelations about Marshall. She loved him. It would be ok. It would be…

Mary opened her eyes, disoriented by the bright light. The smell of disinfectant, the steady beep of a heart monitor. Her eyes slowly adjusted to see Marshall looking up at her, his head on her thigh. Her mother was sound asleep in the corner; Brandi and Raph were nowhere to be seen.

"Marshall." Her voice was rough and she coughed, causing her to spasm in pain from the movement.

"Mary." His smile was equal parts relieved and joyful. Reaching for a cup of water with a bendy straw he said, "What do you need?"

"Ice cream. Lots of ice cream. Oh, and pain meds. Those might help."

***** So, what did you think? Feedback is the favorite food of writers. :)*****


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